Tournament
by Wordwielder
Summary: The competition still has gone away. Inspired by Astrid Goes For A Spin's Trust and this week's episode of Dragons.


He's _so sick _of competition. He was raised on it, had it forced down his throat like bitter medicine. The others gobbled theirs up with relish, because it was supposed to make them _better,_ and he gagged it down and tried not to throw it back up.

They're supposed to be a team. It's not supposed to matter anymore who's faster or stronger or better. They're supposed to be a cohesive unit, not a conglomeration of squabbling factions.

It doesn't matter to Hiccup that Toothless is a Night Fury, that he's the most intelligent and the fastest. He's the best dragon to Hiccup because he's _Toothless, _because of the hot breath and wide, eager eyes that greet him every morning, because of the little groans and twitches that tell him what he's thinking, the feel of his snout bumping against his side, the silent communication between them in quiet moments. He and Toothless are connected in a way that cannot be severed.

(Without losing his mind, anyway.)

They're _we. Us. _He realizes with a shock that the others' dragons _aren't_ with them more than they are. He's _always _with Toothless, and come to think off it, he's not really sure what he'd do without his great lumbering beast by his side. Maybe that's why he can read his dragon so well- and vice versa. He's memorized Toothless' mannerisms and moods. The other day Toothless came into his room with a saddle in his mouth as Hiccup was just thinking about a flight.

They're a team in a way he keeps trying to imitate between the others and their dragons, and never quite achieving at. They're still set in the competition, ready to jump on their dragons and outfly any wiseacre who'll bet they can outrace them. Their dragons are almost like familiar weapons, well-oiled and sharpened to the tip. Toothless is more like an extension of himself, as well as his friend and his family, in ways that underlie every day.

It used to bother him, losing the constant competition. Always coming in last place, being a loser. Toothless changed that. He stopped caring about winning the minute Toothless' scales brushed against his palm- the minute he realized he could never kill a dragon. Why would he _want _to win a competition that was so perfectly _wrong_? Why care about any of it?

He wouldn't ever be the fastest or the strongest, and he didn't need to maneuver himself like a marionette to attempt it. He wasn't competing anymore- he was _learning_. He was doing something that could endure longer than a soon-forgotten race record. He hasn't stopped learning yet; and he never intends to.

It's little things that jar him back into the competition. The boasts and taunts at practices. The little races that go on throughout the day, and the look on the loser's face. The bickering over who _actually _won. The darkness of Astrid's eyes when she's not the best. The sneer of superiority on Snotlout's face.

"It's not a competition."

He must have said those words a thousand times to them. His tone ranges from resigned to exasperated. They don't believe him; they laugh at the concept. And that worries him.

They're good now. They work well together. But he knows that until the distinction between rider and dragon softens, until recognition is an afterthought, they can't merge as one truly spectacular team.

Even the defeat of the Outcasts is still a competition. For a moment there, they came close. They worked together without question, without argument. But the fragile mentality is smashed with the word competition like Thor's hammer.

"It's not a competition!"

Still work to do.

Toothless stretches and sends Hiccup a pleading glance. Hiccup looks up from a battle diagram and yawns. Toothless rumbles.

"You're right. That's enough for today." He yawns and pulls back his sheets, waiting.

Toothless hops into his bed, and Hiccup climbs in after him. Toothless settles around his body, and Hiccup blows out the candle.

Toothless bumps his shoulder and keens. Hiccup looks at him. Toothless dips his head towards the window.

"First thing, bud," he promises. Toothless makes a small content noise and lays his head on Hiccup's chest. Hiccup strokes his snout and closes his eyes. Their breath deepens, and they fall asleep.


End file.
